Awakening to Dream
by Jecir
Summary: She ran. Even as the world around her disappeared into something unfamiliar and cold, she kept running. She would not let the curse win. She would keep running...to him. Rumbelle.
1. A Moment Lost

_Awakening to Dream_

By: Jecir

Chapter One: A Moment Lost

Belle was running. That was her single motivation: run. Run. Run. Keep running! Do not stop!

She could hear the wolves giving chase, led by the Queen's Huntsman. She had known he would be the one to chase her.

But, she kept running. She kept forcing one bare foot in front of the other. She had to keep going. She _had _to! She would not go back. She would _never_ go back!

Her breath puffed out in heated clouds against the cold air; the icy bursts burned in her lungs. Her toes stung with each step across the unfeeling earth. Tears froze on her pale cheeks. And one name passed her lips; her desperate prayer.

"Rumplestiltskin."

Her master. Her beast. Her love. She needed to keep running. She needed to find him.

Branches struck her face, leaving red welts and trails of blood in their wake. A sharp branch broke beneath her feet, cutting deep the delicate, frigid skin. Pain spiked through her body. Still, she ran; still she prayed. "Rumplestiltskin!"

She could see him in her mind—so fresh, so real. Every moment she had spent with him had been like a dream; a dream that had kept her warm in the bowels of the Queen's Castle. Belle had been coming back. She had been returning to their home. She had known even as she had left that he would regret his decision, thus, she had resolved to let him _feel_ the consequences—let the return of loneliness break his pride—but only for a moment. Then, she would return. She had never intended to obey his final order to _"Go!"_ She had promised him forever, and forever, she would give.

But then…the Queen. Hot anger pierced through the cold desperation of her soul, adding energy to her flight.

That treacherous old harpy had tricked her; had _used_ her to hurt him. Belle had had plenty of time to think, to remember, and to understand that moment. That beautiful moment when hope and fear collided; when she had felt his lips—rough, cold, yielding—over hers and believed, for one moment, that they had won. But she had been so naïve. He had not been ready. What she had once thought was acceptance in his eyes in those final moments she now understood as fear. Her own words mocked her through time. _"…you've never loved anyone…and no one has ever loved you." _How could she have believed that, after so little time, his damaged and weary soul would be ready to love. She cursed herself, cursed her childishness, and begged her bleeding feet to move faster.

The Queen had intercepted her on the road, had laughed at her failure, and then had done the worst possible thing: she had trapped Belle in a new dungeon—one that was void of sunlight or promise and contained only a single mirror. That mirror had been the source of the Queen's wrath. It showed Belle her Beast. She watched, trapped, as he spun in silence and solitude. She ached at the hollow pain in his eyes. And, when the Queen twisted the truth of her fate and drove the cold lies deep into his broken heart, she had screamed; she had screamed, she had begged, she had cursed, and she had prayed to whomever would listen that he would see through the woman's sinister words to the truth. She was alive. She was _alive_! And she needed him to save her.

But, her heart and his died as he cast the Queen from his presence.

Then, even as soulful death forced her to her knees, hope blossomed strong in her chest. For, once the Queen was gone, he had reached for their cup. A trinket; a chipped china cup he had once dismissed as _"Just a cup_;_" _he now placed it in a place of honor amongst his collection. And he _cried. _He called her name as he sank to the floor, unable to bear the weight of his pain.

And Belle had cried with him, forced to watch and never save. Watch as he buried the pain; watch as he lost himself in deal after deal after deal, never once stopping least he be forced to feel; watch as the Princess known as Cinderella tricked and captured him. Her final image of his face was one of satisfied vengeance lined with insane glee. The price had been paid. Then, the mirror went black and all was silence.

That was when Belle decided. She would save him. Someway, somehow, she would get out. She would find him. And she would save him. If he wished to keep his powers, so be it. If he never gave into his love for her, so be it. As long as she could stay with him and offer some semblance of protection from the pain in his eyes, she would do it. She loved him. And she would save him. She just needed to bide her time.

Now, here she was, running for her life and his salvation. She did not know how much time had passed. She did not care. She had broken free. The guards of the palace had gotten sloppy. Something had distracted them. They never saw her slip away through the neglected door.

But the Huntsman had. And he was closing in.

Then, it happened.

The world around her shook beneath the force of a great evil. It struck Belle's heart even before the dark clouds consumed her view. A numbing pressure pounded her soul, demanding entry and punishing her resistance. She grasped her head and screamed, "No!" She would not give in; she would not let evil win again.

All around her, the world shifted and changed. Cold forest floor hardened into unfeeling stone (_concrete_, a sudden knowledge whispered in her struggling mind). Trees disappeared into buildings; twilight blossomed into cloudy day; and cool autumn burned into humid spring. And through it all, she continued to run.

Her tatter dress had melted away into unfamiliar clothes. Her bare feet were covered by strange shoes. Her hair was bound behind her head.

And she kept _running_.

All around her, people she knew but did not know stood in dazed silence, starring out into the nothingness. They had given into the numbness. They were lost.

The dark magic caressed her panicked mind, whispering promises of rest in its numbing embrace.

_No!_ she screamed. _No! I won't give in!_

The dark magic roared violently and slammed into her resolve; a tidal wave of evil. Tears of pain and anguish blurred her vision. She released her head, pumped her arms, and screamed the one name she refused to relinquish. "Rumplestiltskin!"

The darkness jerked as if burned.

And her vision cleared for just a moment. One moment. There was so much magic in _one moment_. For, in that moment, through the darkness and confusion and chaos, she looked up and saw _him._

Gone was the leather; gone were the curls; and gone was the look of the demon, but she would know him anywhere. He was not looking into space. He was not struck by silence.

No, he was looking at her.

And the darkness saw him. It roared again, as if in desperation, and lunged for her soul.

Belle closed her eyes; it hurt so much!; and made a desperate leap for his arms.

She collided with his lithe form; heat immediately bled through; and the tears burst forth as she clung to him, sobbing, "I'm sorry!" She wrapped her arms around him, terrified and desperate. The darkness was coming for her. It would steal her away. It would make her _forget!_ She didn't want to forget! She didn't want to forget the day she first met him; the feeling of his hand on her back; the rush of magic as he whisked her away; the days spent watching him spin; the quips; the laughter; the _love_ with all its agonies. She _never_ wanted to forget! "Please!" she begged. "Please, I don't want to forget! Don't let it take me! I'm sorry! I won't kiss you again! I won't do anything, just _please, please_ take me back!"

The darkness was upon her.

She gripped him tighter.

And the world plunged into a numbing haze. The darkness found the cracks of her resolve and began to seep in, began to wrap around her memories and steal them away. It told her she was not a princess; she was, instead, a prisoner of her mind, locked in madness and fear to be shunned by society forever.

_No! _she begged.

"Belle!" That word—_her name_—cut through the darkness. It parted against its will for a mere second, granting her a look at his face. He was desperate; he was strong; he was holding her head in his hands and demanding her to focus. "Belle, say my name!"

His name? Images of a lonely monster spinning straw filtered through her mind. The darkness snatched it away.

"My name!" he demanded again, releasing her head to grab her left hand.

His name was...was…She blinked, focused on his angled cheeks and pointed nose. "Rumple…stiltskin."

"Again," he said. He was reaching for something behind him. They were no longer outside. They were inside. When had they come inside?

"Rumplestiltskin!" she sobbed.

"Again! Don't stop, no matter what, do not stop saying my name!" He pressed something cold and sharp against the palm of her hand.

"Rumplestiltskin!"

He sliced the object across her skin. She gasped; fire surged up her arm to collide with the darkness. "Rumplestiltskin." This time, it was a whimper as the battle of magic warred in her mind.

"Belle," he said like a prayer. He took her bleeding hand and gripped it tight in his. Blood squished between their joined hands and flowed down her arm. "Belle, Belle, my Belle."

She felt weak. The battle was overwhelming. The darkness was closing in; it was swallowing the heat. She tried to focus. She tried to speak his name. "Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestilt…Rumple…" _No…no, that's wrong. _"Rum…Mister…"

Pain jolted her hand; he had tightened his grip. "No! Belle, focus! Belle!"

It hurt so badly. Why was she fighting? Her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed up at him, like a fever dream, and smiled. "Mister Gold?"

Despair twisted his face as her eyes slid closed once more. The darkness was closing in; its laughter sounding so familiar…like an evil witch from a story. It was cruel and unfeeling and…and driving her insane. _Yes…yes, maybe I'm insane…_

"Belle!"

Golden light cut through the victorious darkness, surging forth from the white hot pressure crushing her lips. The darkness reeled back. It roared in hate. And then, it came crashing down upon her…

…and all went silent.


	2. Bleeding Love

_Awakening to Dream_

By: Jecir

Chapter Two: Bleeding Love

The last remnants of the curse solidified around him, and then, all was still.

Rumplestiltskin stood in silence, feeling…nothing; absolutely nothing. The vortex of emotions that was his soul surged with such intensity that he had defaulted to numbness. It had protected him in the past; it would aid him now as he tried to sort through all that had just occurred.

The Queen—_Regina_, as she was now known—had done it. She had enacted the curse; the curse that he had written as his ultimate revenge against her was now his new prison. How he had delighted giving her the curse. No price she paid—and he made her pay _dearly_ for it—was enough to compensate for the hatred he felt for her for what she had done. Whoever coined the phrase, "Do not shoot the messenger" was sorely mistaken in his logic. Rumplestiltskin had most certainly "shot" the messenger but only after he had wrecked his revenge against Lord Maurice and his poor, provincial town. The people had been begging for the mercies of the Ogre Wars long before he had finished. He had left the old man alive but just barely; his wrath remaining for one, final soul.

Yes, he had constructed the curse with every ounce of pain he felt at losing Belle. He had poured his loneliness, his despair, and his never-ending longing into the enchantment. He knew that the Queen would desire it more than any other; he had patented it to her; and he had grinned maliciously as he sold it to her, expectant of the day when she would, for her own selfishness, sacrifice her very heart on the altar of her greed. She would feel for eternity the pain he felt every day and more. She would never be free. He had made sure of that.

A knock on the door shook him from his frigid state. He turned, his eyes taking in the eclectic mishmash that was his knew shop. _Mr. Gold's Pawn Shop and Antiques_ was, to his detailed gaze, a resting place for the lost memories of Fairytale Land. He smirked to himself; Regina's curse could not erase the truth from this _Storybrooke_, _Maine_ no more than he could erase the pain of his loss from his heart.

A strange, familiar ache pulsed up his leg, and he grimaced, both annoyed and resigned. _Well played, your Majesty_, he mentally hissed as he leaned on his new _old_ cane. He had outwitted her curse for the most part, but she had still gotten in a shot. He hobbled to the door, falling easily back into the cadence he had not adopted since before his empowerment, and opened it upon the third insistent knock.

A scruffy looking young man stood on his steps; sweating and anxious and looking uncomfortable in his new skin. "Good afternoon, Mr. Gold. Pardon the interruption."

Rumplestiltskin allowed his lips to pull into a thin smile. Here, he was not the sorcerer, but he still held the power—Regina had, at least, kept up _that_ end of the deal—and the Sheriff had to knock. "Of course, Sheriff." He stepped out into the unpleasant northern sunlight, a pale reflection of the crisp light that had filled his castle for one brief spring, and purposefully closed the door behind him. Hands folding over the cane before him, he turned his all-too-yet-not-so human gaze upon the Queen's ex-pet. "What can I do for you?"

For a moment, it looked as if Sheriff Graham was about to report something serious, but then, his eyes glazed over and he stared unseeing at the pawn broker. He never saw the flash of triumph in Rumplestiltskin's eyes. No, Graham lost a full five seconds of frozen time; coming out of his trance with a blink and a confused shake of his head.

"Sheriff?" Rumplestiltskin prompted. "Is everything alright?"

"Uh…" Graham looked at him with a jolt of surprise. "Yeah. Sorry, but I cannot seem to remember why I came. Um." He looked about for some clue to remind him what he was doing. "Is…uh…is everything alright here? No…disturbances?"

Rumplestiltskin kept his expression pleasantly neutral, finding it surprisingly easy to fall into the persona Regina had written for him, and kept the smile of indifference firmly on his lips. "No. All is quiet, as is usual."

Sheriff Graham raised an eyebrow at the man before him, feeling as if something was not quite right, but, the feeling past and he shook his head again. "Alright." He nodded. "Have a good day."

"Same to you." Rumplestiltskin watched him leave. The streets were pleasantly deserted; a change from mere moments before when the inhabitants of Fairytale Land awoke into this dream. They had stood like zombies as Regina's darkness overwrote their identities with false imprisonment. They would never know that this world was a dungeon.

Purposefully catching the eyes of a passerby in order to feel the thrill of the poor soul's fear of him as the eye contact was dropped and the victim scuttled away, Rumplestiltskin turned back to disappear into his shop.

And, once inside, his defenses dropped, and he began, once more, to _feel_.

The first thing he felt was anger. Regina—the Queen—had _lied_ to him. Next, he felt guilt, for he had believed her far too easily. The Queen always lied. He knew that, and yet, he had wanted to believe. It justified his rejection. It proved his thinking. He _was_ a monster, and monsters _destroyed_. At least, that was what he had believed. Now, as he knelt painfully onto the wooden floor, he felt regret and sorrow and, most powerful of all, the need to make amends, for she was here, she was _alive_, and she was his. The proof was on her left hand. He brushed back her hair, watching her sleep. The magic had weakened her. He needed to get her to safety.

And he needed to _think_ about what to do next.

**THIS IS A BREAK IN THE SCENE! THIS IS A BREAK IN THE SCENE! THIS IS A BREAK IN THE SCENE!**

She was dreaming.

She stood next to her father, clutching his arm in a vain attempt to hold him back from attacking the cruel man before them. Mr. Gold was here to collect on a loan she had begged her father not to take. Yet, he had been so optimistic that this new venture—a flower shop—would work. Yet, business had been poor, and they had struggled just to pay the bills. Now, they were faced with the horror of Mr. Gold's displeasure. No one defaulted on a loan from _him_.

Her father had begged and pleaded. "I'll give you anything!" he had said. "Just name your price!"

That had gotten Mr. Gold' attention. He had raised a single eyebrow behind his sunglasses, an almost evil smirk twisting his lips, as he drawled in his seductively deceptive baritone, "Anything?"

"Papa, no!" she countered, pulling his arm, trying to draw his eyes away from this demon, to tell him that there was another way, that they could make it without giving up any more of their dignity.

But her father did not listen. He never did. "Yes," he said. "Anything."

The smirk pulled into a smile. "Very well. My price..." He raised his cane to point beyond the older man's shoulder. "Is _her._"

Her eyes widened. Her father's face paled. And Gold's smile grew as he continued. "I have long desired a companion. Give me your daughter as my wife, and I will consider your debt cleared."

Time froze around them as her father turned to look at her, and she knew his answer.

Every member of Storybrooke came to the wedding; not out of support for the poor daughter of the flower merchant but out of morbid curiosity at the thought that _Mr. Gold_ was actually getting married. It was a grand spectacle; no expense spared; after all, he _was_ the richest man in town; he would allow no less than the biggest and the best. A cruel gesture, a smack in the face of happiness, and yet, it was her fate. She would be bound to this monster for the sake of her weak father.

"I'm sorry, my dear," he whispered as he walked her down the aisle. He was her sole support—no woman in town would stand with her as her bridal party. It fit; _Gold_ had no groomsmen. The ceremony had been short and simple, lacking any sentimentality and feeling all too much like the business transaction that it was. She had tried to make a moment of it as she took his hand and slid the ring on his finger, saying, "With this ring, I thee wed."

But, as with all things he touched, he brought ruin. He placed her ring—pure gold; no expense spared—on her finger and said, "With this ring, the deal is struck." She looked up at him in shock, and his eyes flashed. "You are mine."

The minister was paid to not hear or see the tragedy he was officiating. He raised his hands and declared, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride."

The whole of Storybrooke held its breath.

She turned her head.

He placed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

There. It was done. Her life was signed away all for the sake of a _shop_.

The reception danced by in a blur of false congratulations and blessing. Then, she was in his car, driving to her new home and the thing she feared most. She could handle life with him, but she could not fathom fulfilling her _duty_. Thus, it was to her great shock and utter humiliation when he escorted her to _her _room, not _theirs_. No, his room was down the hall, and she was "never to enter it."

"I…" She swallowed her fears and tried to say what she dreaded most. "I don't understand."

Gold had taken a moment to uncover her meaning, then his smile again twisted cruel and he laughed. "Oh, child, I wanted a caretaker, not a _lover_. Marrying you was a perk." He turned, ending the conversation, and walked away, calling over his shoulder as he entered his room, "Have a good night, dearie."

The shock, the pain, and the outrage shook her to the core.

It shook her out of her dreams.

Belle sat up, breathing heavily, her clothes and blankets clinging to her sweating form. _No!_ her mind screamed. _No! No! No!_ It was not true. It was NOT true!

Something cold and heavy encircled her finger. She looked down with horrified, tear filled eyes at the gold band placed on the ring finger of her _left_ hand. The sobs caught in her throat, and she turned to collapse against the plush pillows, pouring out her anguish. This could not be happening! It wasn't real! It was not real! She refused to believe it was real! She was Belle! She. Was. Belle!

The bed dipped behind her. Strong hands rolled her over and grasped her shoulders, forcing her to rise. She looked up through her tears at the man who was now her husband. The dreams—no, _memories_—were so fresh in her mind that she pulled back, fear shooting through her eyes.

To her surprise, he looked...hurt. He reached for her; gently stroking back her hair; a gesture that was so heart-breakingly familiar it caused the tears to pour fresh and anew. She wanted her Beast. Where was her Beast?

"What is my name?"

The question caught her off guard. The fear pulsed through her veins and pounded in her ears. What was she supposed to say? Two sets of memories warred in her mind; both providing an answer that demanded to pass her lips. She knew things were not right. She knew something terrible had happened. Somehow, some way, she was trapped again with him. But this time, he was so much more _not_ hers. She knew how to handle pain. She knew she could survive captivity. She had done it before. But, as she looked into his eyes—so very human—she did not know if she could survive _this_.

And he was waiting for an answer.

Swallowing her tears, she whispered uncertainly, "Mr. Gold."

He closed his eyes, his jaw tightening, and pain evident in each line. Then, he relaxed and reached for her left hand. He opened his eyes to look into hers; the intensity ensnared her in his power. He pressed his palm—left hand to left hand—to her. She winced at the shock of pain and the feel of cut skin moving against itself. His fingers laced through hers, and he leaned forward, asking, "My _real _name."

Her heart stopped. She gripped his hand. And she looked—truly _looked_—into his eyes. There, deep down, she saw it. Hope filled her as she remembered to breathe. Raising the trembling fingers of her free hand to brush his temple, she whispered, "Rumplestiltskin?"

The weight of the world rolled off his shoulders. He slumped forward, releasing his relief in a rush of air, and said, "Belle."

Belle broke down. The emotional strain was too much; she could not take it. The tears came and they would not stop. Rumplestiltskin pulled her into his arms, and there, she sobbed, open and broken and desperate to know, "What is happening?"


	3. Whatever It Takes

_Awakening to Dream_

By: Jecir

Chapter Three: Whatever It Takes

It was storming outside. The violent pelting of the rain against his new yet old home was oddly soothing to Rumplestiltskin's—_no_, he corrected himself; it was Mr. Gold now—ears. He laid in silence, listening to nature's lament and watching his beautiful Belle as she slept, finally at peace. She had cried for so long and laid longer in his arms, unable to cope with the knowledge tearing at her mind. Thus, he had waited, patiently, grateful to just simply hold her. He had thought he would never have this chance again. Why now? Why here in this godforsaken land? He did not know, but, for the first time in so very long, he did not care. She was here. She was alive. And she was, again, his.

He watched her sleep, marveling at her face, her hair, and her closed eyes. The curse had altered her so little. Or perhaps it was his intervention that had spared her. He closed his eyes, remembering so clearly those moments that should, by magical law, have blurred into nothingness. He had been sitting in his horrid cell, waiting patiently for the consuming might of his curse enacted. He had smirked, laughed even, as the initially shockwaves trembled across the land. And, he had closed his eyes in anticipation when the dark clouds billowed through his prison walls to whisk him away to a new and strange land.

Yet, unlike the others, the dark magic retreated swiftly from his mind, leaving it unaltered. His body changed; his story was presented to him for his acceptance or rejection. The magic knew its true master, thus it left him fairly unscathed; allowing him the delight of seeing his enemies succumb to their fate. He drank it all in—the small town rising around him upon the land _he_ now owned; the unspoken and misunderstood sadness that settled upon each and every soul that would inhabit this prison; and the dark glee of knowing he had retained the one thing left to him: his power. Yes, it was the closest thing his frozen heart had come to feeling pleasure in a long, long time.

Then, he heard her call his name, and the false joy shattered before her reality.

She was running toward him. He could see the tendrils of the curse fighting to trap her, to take her, and to wash her from existence, but the magic snapped back as she screamed for him. Her eyes were full of fear. Her soul was trembling under the assault. And yet, she kept her gaze firmly fixed on him and _ran_.

And he stared, trapped by the vision of her face. All his wit, all his clever trickery, and all his elation at this new world with different and intriguing magics to conquer died, leaving only stunned silence. He could not comprehend what it was he was seeing. How could she be _here_?

Then, she was in his arms and she was crying and begging and he knew the magic would not recoil upon his command for she _was not _ him. Nor was she his. His new false identity spoke truth to that fact. His new life held no memory of her.

But the curse was not complete. It had not finished its task. He could still save her. He could still _keep_ her…if he hurried.

He found sanctuary in his shop, and there, his mind acted swiftly, knowing of so little magics that could counter the level of animosity and pain he had used to forge the revenge of now. The darkness followed them in to latch onto her again. He would need to act quickly.

Thunder rolled overhead, bringing Mr. Gold back to the present. Lightening followed, heralding another loud clasp. In the brief flash of blue and violet, he gazed at his hand—his _left_ hand; his left hand that he had slit with the only other possession left to him in the confines of this new curse. He had felt the dagger containing his name hidden underneath his new clothes and had used it out of desperation, not knowing if there would be consequences nor having the time to fear.

He ran his thumb over the half-healed cut, remembering the power of the covenant he had formed between them. He would have to explain to her what he had done, how he had used the second most powerful magic in all lands to bind their memories, their lives, and their fates together into the protection of names. He had had her speak his name as he spoke hers, forging the bonds that tethered their pasts to this unmoving present.

However, he would never tell her that it failed. He would never tell her that the covenant had begun to fracture under the power of the curse and that she had nearly been lost.

Above all, he would _never_ tell her what he had done to alter that fate.

_True love's kiss_…He smirked; the thought containing only a slim measure of malice. He refused to acknowledge what he felt stirring in him as he remembered giving in to the last ditch effort of a desperate soul. That kiss had forced the curse to conform; creating new false memories that promised the loss of happily ever after—as was the dictates of the original curse—yet bound them together, and, for that, he was grateful.

Gold sighed heavily, feeling not for the first time since his arrival the weight of his humanity. Regina may have granted him power and wealth, but, upon the completion of the curse, she had stripped him of his magic and the protection that darkness had offered, leaving behind a scarred and frozen old man trying to fix a past and prepare for a future that were both so uncertain. All that was certain to him, in this moment, was that, when faced with the choice of his pride or her life, he had chosen her, and, more importantly and far more frightening, was the love he felt rising in his heart. It was growing stronger with each second he gazed at her; each breath that filled his lungs with her scent; and each stroke of his hand across her face. It was as if each touch proved again that she was real.

And he was terrified. All at once, he wanted to hold her close and push her away; promise her shelter and protection and curse her until she ran from him. She was his weakness, and if Regina ever found out, she would try to use Belle against him in any way possible. Anger swelled in his chest. He felt the beast raising its head at the anxious threat, and he knew, he _knew_ that he would never allow Regina to take _his_ _wife_ away. He would fight. He would kill. He would do whatever it took to keep Belle here with him. Forever.

Belle moaned in her sleep and reached for him. He drew her close, allowing her to settle into his arms and against his chest. She sighed, content, and slipped back into her sleep. In that moment, Gold allowed himself to relax. There was still so much for him to do, prepare, and plan, but, for now, he granted himself a right to be selfish. He would enjoy holding her. A true, untainted smile teased his lips as he pulled the plush comforter high over them and settled in for what would be the best night sleep he had had in a very long time.

**THIS IS A BREAK IN THE SCENE! THIS IS A BREAK IN THE SCENE! THIS IS A BREAK IN THE SCENE!**

Sunlight poured over sleepy Storybrooke, Maine, bringing wonderful color in the wake of the previous night's storms. Sydney Glass reported that it was the first of many and that all residents should prepare for a rough spring ahead. Fresh baked goods could be smelled three blocks away from _Granny's_, promising a hot meal to anyone who entered. Sheriff Graham was completing his morning rounds before going to meet Mayor Mills for his daily report. Life in Storybrooke was moving forward as it always had and always will.

And, in the largest house on the lane, Mr. Gold was coming downstairs for breakfast. He was immaculately dressed in one of his black, hand cut suits accented with a red waistcoat and tie. His cane tapped against the hardwood floor, announcing his arrival. Steam drifted through the open walkway leading into the dining room; the lingering evidence of a freshly prepared meal waiting for him. His fake life told him that this was merely routine; his true self felt a rush of warmth at the prospect of hot food prepared by her for him. It was a treasure he thought never to own again. Fighting to keep his face neutral as was the ways of Mr. Gold, he walked into the dining room to meet his wife.

Belle sat at the small yet ornately expensive dining table, a mug of hot tea warming her hands and an empty plate pushed to the side. She said nothing as he entered; he said nothing as he sat. The meal was simple: eggs, toast, and bacon. But then, his eyes landed on something more, and the smile he had fought to banish returned with a vengeance. He sat back in his chair, the air of contentment, as he lifted his morning tea served…in a _chipped_ china cup.

"I found it in the cupboard," she said absently.

"Aye." His voice was thick with emotion. He allowed himself to savor the weakness, if only for a second, before Mr. Gold took control. He sipped his tea and set the cup down, saying dismissively, "As is its place." He picked up his fork and began eating.

Belle watched him over the rim of her cup. "You're wearing a suit," she commented in both a question and a resignation.

Gold swallowed a mouthful of deliciousness, washed it back with tea, and then answered, "Yes."

"I don't like it."

Gold paused, a fresh forkful of food halfway to his lips and the wheels of his mind calculating his response. "I did not suspect you would."

"And that's why you wear them," Belle concluded, looking out the dining room window. "Because _everyone_ knows that Mr. Gold does not listen to what his wife has to say regarding his clothes."

Her comment—spoken in such cold derision lined with deep bitterness—caused him to start. He looked up at her, concern and alarm and even a twinge of fear peeking through his gaze. A thousand thoughts rushed through his mind, making him doubt and question the last few hours. Had he failed? Had the magic not settled in? Had the curse emerged in the night? Had—

Then, she was laughing. It was not bitter or cynical or cold as the laugh of an imprisoned trophy wife would think to sound. No, it was music and peace and light breaking through the dark haze settling over his mind. Belle beamed at him, took in his confused expression, and laughed harder. "We're—" She tried between bouts of humor. "We're married!" she said in joyous disbelief.

Mr. Gold did not see how this was funny.

Belle shook her head once, looked up at him again, and waggled her finger at him, saying slowly and deliberately, "I am your _trophy_ wife." The mirth became tainted with an emergence of last night's doubts and sorrows, but Belle, his brave Belle, refused to give it place. She took a deep breath, held it, and then released all of her lingering negativity in a violent rush of air. "Trophy wife," she said again. "I guess that makes sense."

"Belle," he began.

"I thought I was supposed to be clinically insane," she said thoughtfully, propping her chin in one hand and raising a thoughtful eyebrow at him. "That is what I recall being forced upon me when this…" She waved her hand over her head. "Whatever this is happened."

"Curse."

"Pardon?"

Gold took his time wiping his mouth with his napkin. "I am afraid we have been cursed, my dear."

"A curse," Belle whispered with a slow nod of understanding. Her head lulled in her hand, tilting to the side and gazing up at him with childlike interest. "What kind of curse?"

Gold's eyes leveled on her as he said, "The worst kind."

Belle sat up, her innocent persona dropping to reveal the powerful princess he had chosen as his price oh so long ago. Back straightening, she folded her hands before her and commanded him to "Explain."

And he did.

She listened with great patience and surprising understanding as he depicted their new fate—how everything she had every known and loved was now trapped in a time-frozen wasteland void of happiness and magic. When he finished, she closed her eyes and took another deep breath. "And this?" she asked, flashing her wounded hand.

"The only way to save you," he confessed but left it at that.

Belle cradled her hand, rubbing the length of the cut while thinking through all he had told her. "So, my memories of this place are false," she reiterated. "And my memories of _home _are true."

"Correct," Gold said.

"And these false memories," she mused while picking up her cup and swirling the dredges of her tea. "They are meant to trap us?"

"No one fights a curse from which they are unaware," Gold explained.

"Hn." Belle sighed heavily, feeling the weight of it all on her already tired shoulders. "You are right. That is the worst." An exasperated smile marred her face. "I traded one prison for another."

"You…what?"

Belle met his dark eyes—both loving the new color and missing the old—to give her confession. "I escaped the Queen's dungeon right before the curse fell. I…" She looked down for a moment, gathered her courage, and boldly faced him. "I was coming to find you."

Gold sank back into his chair. Black anger burned in his eyes; he turned away, refusing to ever make her the target of his darkness again. His teeth clenched as he hissed, "She _lied _to me."

"I know."

"She told me you were dead!" Gold snapped.

Belle leaned forward to take his hand in hers. She waited, her wound pressing into his, reconfirming the sacrifice he made to protect her, until he looked at her. His eyes simmered with hate and rage caged behind the cool exterior of this new Mr. Gold. Yet, though wrapped in different skin, she could see him—her beast. He was still her monstrous, temperamental, and greatly misunderstood love. And she could still calm his soul with a touch of her hand and a smile on her face. Gazing deep into his eyes, she said, "I know. I watched her do it."

"I will destroy her," Gold swore.

"Well," Belle said as she stood, his hand still captive in hers, and moved to the seat next to him. "You have an eternity to do it," she offered.

"No," Gold said. "Only twenty eight years."

"Twenty eight years?" Belle asked, sitting back in shock.

"Aye," Gold growled. "The curse will be lifted in twenty eight years. That is not enough time."

"Rum," she coaxed, touching his face and drawing his mind away from thoughts of revenge to the news he had just delivered. "The curse, how is it going to be lifted?"

He blinked, as if having forgotten she was there, and then, his anger dissipated, making room for a familiar teasing humor that both taunted and caressed. He folded her hands in his as a chuckle passed his lips. "You cannot play the hero this time, my dear. None of us can."

"But, you said—"

"I did," he agreed, cutting her off before the hope in her eyes grew into reckless determination. He had just gotten her back; he was not going to lose her to a flight of heroic fancy. He would cut that at the root with the truth. "The daughter of Snow White and her _Prince Charming_," he sneered, and she giggled. "Escaped the curse. She will return, and _she_ will lift the curse." He leaned forward until they were almost touching and said, "No one else."

Belle scowled. "That is not very fair."

"Curses never are, dearie."

Belle sat back in her chair in a rare display of indignation. "And what are we supposed to do for twenty eight years, Rumple—"

"Ah ah," he said, waggling his finger as he used to do once upon a time. "None of that, dearie. We are in a new world now. You must use my new name."

Belle's lips twisted with increasing displeasure. "Fine." She sat up. "What are we supposed to do for twenty eight years, _Mr. Gold._"

Gold smiled, searched out her left hand with his, and laced their fingers together; palm to palm, cut to cut, and ring to ring. His eyes danced with mirth as he said, "We wait, _Mrs. _Gold_._"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well, there it is. I try my best to resist the siren call of "Reactionary Fics" born out of hyper emotions that often ignore past and future plot development; however, Rumplestiltskin and Belle got so under my skin that i could not even think about my current projects until I got this on paper. And this one was the safest of the many ideas flooding my mind as it toyed with the idea of Regina never having the chance to lock Storybrooke Belle away and what may have happened because of it. I hope you all enjoyed it. I may continue in a drabble form that dances through the many "what if's" of the married life of the Golds. Prompts are welcome! <strong>

** Love to all!**

**Jecir**


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